


Here's the Pride Before the Fall

by gustin_puckerman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background stories, Cheating, Child Neglect, Explicit Language, Maria-centric, Military Background, Pre-Movie(s), Unspecified Ships, a lot of OCs because i can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria's young when she maps out the rest of her miserable life, however it could be. It's not pretty, and well, she's never completely finished mapping.</p><p>Maria Hill, and how she gets to where she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's the Pride Before the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Basically personal Maria pre-SHIELD headcanons galore all over. And beware of the language. Also: this is severely unbeta'd. Hence, all mistakes are mine. Any characters won't be listed/tagged unless they've appeared, because I'm a shit and you can't trust me with these stuff.

**_"I_** 'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation."  
—Richard Sicken, excerpt from _Wishborne_.

.

Maria's ten when she decides that dad's a piece of garbage.

She guesses she'd always figured it out ― she's pretty intelligent for a kid her age ― and, anyway, it's not like it's _news_ or anything. Normal dads don't leave pieces of broken bottles all over the living room for a little girl to pick up after, and they definitely don't vomit anywhere on the floorboard even though it'll leave an ugly stain scratching over the surface; and they don't spit out blood on their daughter's face when they lost the lottery or something. Dad's weird. That's always been known.

But surprisingly, on the contrary to popular's belief, he never beats her up.

Sure, there's one or two incident that he's raised his hand and slap her across the face (first when she's four, second when she's seven) but that's about it. Mostly, dad just ignores her most of the time. (It's when he's _angry_ , she's got to look out for.) And he buys her food every other night when he remembers it ― sometimes it's even _hot_  ― and he leaves her to her stuff.

By the time she's ten, she primarily does everything on her own. There's a shop downtown, a little far to go even by her bicycle, whose owner let her sweeps floor every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. It pays enough. Her shoes, books, utensils, a few new clothes ― everything she needs, really. And as far as she's concerned, dad's blackmailing Aunt Julia (dad's sister who lives somewhere in Beverly Hills that Maria only remembers by hazy memory of someone dark-blonde and pouty lips) to pay for whatever he needs. It works out like that, their arrangement. Nobody fusses over anything, live moves on.

Except of course, the _neighbours_ were pretty nosy.

Maria generally doesn't like people. Maybe it's because her circumstances, or maybe she's just naturally antisocial, but the point of the matter is, she doesn't _like_ them. She can pretty much work with someone delivering pies every once in a month because they're hoping to pry anything from her of her father when they come over, mostly, she suspects, for a good topic to gossip over, asking her bunch of stuff from "is your father home" to "does he touch you, Maria, oh dear, you could always tell me _everything_ " but she says her thanks curtly, mainly too distracted from the scent wafting off of the pie (the people, she notes, might be troublesome. But they can _sure_ bake one heck of a pie when they want to.) but also because it's the nicest thing she could say without snarling. Much.

They smile sympathetically at her in return, like they care. _Actually_ care. It makes her sick.

(It's one thing she has in common with dad. He doesn't like people too much either.)

But it's not just because they're _nosy_. It's so much more than that. It's because they're humans and one of their biggest flaw is that they assume too easily. Perhaps Maria should forgive them for having such a weakness they can't possibly not harbour, but she's too arrogant for that. So she holds it up, lets it boil whenever she sees them slithering about, stealing glances at her, hissing whispers of things they think she won't hear. It's about dad, she knows. How sick he is. How cruel he must be. How poor his daughter is.

Maria hates that. Downright _detests_ it.

Because she's ten when she decides that dad's a piece of garbage, but that doesn't mean she loves him any less.

.

Maria's twelve when she learns how to fight.

Mr. Hansen, that's the owner of the shop she's sweeping floors for, has a new neighbour next door. Mr. Hansen has trusted her enough to leave the shops with her on occasion by that point, and she's earning more money that she could buy more than just one piece of t-shirt every month. (She can actually buy, like, _two_ pants now, it's incredible.) The neighbour, Mr. Hemsworth, has two snotty-looking sons with dark eyes and even darker hair. Maria knows they hate her. It's not a surprise. But they tolerate her enough when the younger one — _Mike_  — always slip her candies in an exchange she helps him cheat while playing cards his brother, Patrick.

Mr. Hemsworth is a military man. Big, wide shoulders with scars hidden under his ever-growing beard. He likes her. Genuinely. That, she knows. It's uncommon and weird, awkward too, but it isn't _not_ nice. 

(For what it's worth, she's pretty cool with the guy.)

Patrick, the sore dick, whines when Mr. Hemsworth approaches her into asking if she'd wanted to join the kick-boxing training with the boys. Mike glares, because supposedly that's what Mike does best, and Maria accepts if she could only see them frowning even more so. Patrick says, "But _dad_ ," like a little kid crying for a candy he can't have, "she's a _girl_."

Maria slits a glare, because what the _fuck_ , what does a gender has to do with _anything_ , and Mr. Hemsworth frowns, narrows his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Pat." His harsh eyes go over to her, tipping his chin in acknowledgement once, beckoning. "All I could see is a fighter. And I'm betting a pretty good one at that too."

It's probably the best thing she's heard her whole life.

Maria beats Patrick twice, knocking him on his ass again and again. It's fun. So they train like that, behind the store, whenever she's available to, and Mr. Hansen doesn't wholly mind as long as his store doesn't go up in flames or get robbed. (Which is unlikely. Maria's still figuring out what exactly it _is_ he's selling.) Everything works out.

Maria's twelve when she learns that she can be a fighter. She doesn't ever want to stop.

.

Maria's thirteen when dad almost dies.

It's the most terrifying she's ever been. Dad has a thing with his lungs. It starts when he smokes. Then, he drinks. (To which is _not_ a secret because hel- _lo_ , this is her dad they're talking about.) Doctor says it's failing on him, the little assholes they call his lungs, that he shouldn't be doing what he's been doing, and that he _will_ die if this continues. Maria's still a little freaked. She should. She'd just turned thirteen, which is not good because her birthday is when dad usually hits his worst, and she's already soaking up with his vomit and piss and shit.

(She's used to that. Covered up with what his stomach rejects. It's the _blood_ that's creeping her out.) 

They force her to call out to Aunt Julia. It's weird. It's probably centuries since they talked; Maria privately thinks that Aunt Julia might've forgotten her existence altogether. (After all, with so much disregard from dear ole dad, she isn't surprised if any of their extended family thinks she's dead.) She sounds nice enough. Aunt Julia. For a snobby, rich, absent family that hates her only sibling's gut. 

"Are you, um, are you okay?" Aunt Julia tries when she finishes introducing herself, and Maria's stomach twists. This is weird. "How's, uh, how's John? How's your father?"

"They're keeping him in the hospital. The doctor says he'll be fine, I don't know." She wants to complain she's tired, but that's not normal. Not in this family. She can't be _too_ comfortable. It's what she learns growing up. "I need a shower."

Aunt Julia laughs out of nowhere, out of relief it seems, "He's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Maria really doesn't know the details. Her head's mostly preoccupied with what she's going to do when the hospital's finally decided to release the old man. She's not _hiding_ his stash of liquor from him (she's not insane), but she doesn't want him to drop dead either. (Where else would she live if he does?) "He's, uh, he's sleeping right now."

More like pass out. Whatever.

"Okay, okay. Good." Aunt Julia exhales, "I'll handle the bills and everything. You just sit there and call me up if anything happens, okay?"

Maria's thirteen when she maps out the rest of her miserable life, however it could be, if dad dies. It's not pretty, and well, she's never completely finished mapping.

.

She's fourteen when she meets Jimmy.

Patrick — she doesn't know how they've passed the point of being completely hostile towards one another, but they did — mocks that Jimmy looks like a pussy. "He's not a pussy," Maria reasons without revealing that she actually cares or anything, because she outrightly _doesn't_ , and pointedly stares at Patrick. "He's _nice_. Something your brain can't probably comprehend."

 _Like intelligence_ , she doesn't add.

Patrick, the stupid prick, narrows his dark eyes at her. "You're only saying that because you have a crush of him. Oh, man. _Gross_."

She glares and retorts a stupid threat that would probably come true if she doesn't respect Mr. Hemsworth as much as she does. Life goes on. She doesn't know if it should be a surprise when Jimmy approaches her. He's careful and nice and _clearly_ interested in her (or her English homework because he downright sucks at grasping any proper grammar and correct idioms) and when he kiss, it tastes like stars. Or at least, she likes to think it is. 

In any case, he doesn't tell her she's boring when she quotes random things from _Stephen King_ or _Bukowski_ or _Pablo Neruda_ (oh man, Neruda's her _God_ ), and he takes her to the park sometimes to just sit in the wind, and helps her sweep floors at Hansen's whenever he's free and he's willing to teach her to dance even though it's hopeless (she doesn't even want to go into that), and all things considering, he's not _bad_.

It's when he's celebrating his sixteenth birthday and they're at the grocery store and there's two men who walked in with plastic guns, that Maria tackles one of them swiftly before the cashier pulls up a rifle from under his counter and attacks the other. She's all cut and bruises when the police and medics roll over to take in her statement, but all Jimmy does is stay by her side and tells her how fucking awesome she was.

She's fourteen when she lets him kiss her, up from her face down to her stomach. She moans until she forgets the sound of the bullet passing by her ear, until she can't feel anything other than Jimmy's tongue working on her inner thigh.

.

She's fifteen when she finds out Jimmy's been fucking Samantha Wyatt at the back of the bleachers.

She supposes she sees it coming. Jimmy's as nice as they go, but the bottom line is, he's not _that_ different. Maybe it's because he still dances with her whenever _Lionel Richie_ comes out, or buys her _Stephen King_ 's books even though she insist he doesn't need to do that, or tells her she's pretty and stays with her in her cramped-up room 'till morning even though dad lurks downstairs. She doesn't know. Doesn't ultimately _cares_. But she stays with him. Even though the whole school knows about it, even though she writes it in her English paper and got a _B_ (the first ever) in scrawly " _he fucks her_ " and " _he fucks me_ " and " _it's not fucking fair_ ", even though it burns every time he touches her and it doesn't feel like she's holding the stars anymore.

She stays with him.

Because at age fifteen, she figures that Jimmy's as nice as they go, and she's not missing on that.

.

She's sixteen when Mr. Hemsworth passes away.

It bites on her. His death. A fallen soldier, they call him. It's the first time Patrick holds her and cries. Says, "I don't want him to fucking die. I don't care if he's a goddamn hero. I want him to come back and take me to the football field and tells me how fucking disappointed he is about my grades, but says he loves me anyway. I'm his fucking _son_. _I don't want him to die_."

It's disheartening. It's sickening.

Jimmy holds her throughout the funeral and when Mike lounges and screams for his father to wake up, Maria's shaking so bad that it takes Jimmy an hour to get her to calm down. It's one of the rarest time she cries, and she hates herself for it. She tells him that she wants to break up with him, says she thinks that they've known it for a while, and looks at him, holds in a sob. "You're not treating me right," she tells him when she sees _him_ shake, looking at a crippled memory of a laughing Mr. Hemsworth in her head, and her chest aches. "What you're doing to me. It's not right."

"But I—" Jimmy tries, clearly perplexed. "I _love_ you."

Maria sinks down to the earth, because she realises he's the only one on earth who actually does. "I know," she tells helplessly and clasps her mouth, because she wishes things were easier, things were better. It's not. It never is. "I'm sorry."

So she leaves Jimmy behind, packs up her bag, gives dad one last shower, steals mom's photo out of his private journal, writes a letter to Aunt Julia, and sprints the fuck out of the town. She doesn't make it very far, only about seven hours with traffic to Columbus, Ohio, before she settles in and starts looking for jobs. She starts at the homeless shelter, finding a bed, and she's washing the dishes two weeks later in a busy diner at the edge of the town. By the end of the month, she's got enough money to rent an apartment of her own, although of course she doesn't actually _get_ one until about a month after that.

But she never looks back.

She is sixteen when she's no longer Maria, but _Marie Anne Thomas_  — mom's name — and her hair's longer than she's used to; she has a boyfriend who doesn't do much but bruises her skin whenever they fuck but breathes smoke into her lungs that she feels high enough to actually like it; she doesn't quote _Neruda_ or read _Fitzgerald_ anymore, Tommy (that's her crap excuse for a boyfriend) doesn't like that shit, and she's supposedly obedient to everything he wants.

(Tommy's worse than dad. _Worse_.)

She is sixteen when she learns what it's like to really survive, to work until her bones and flesh's all washed up, till her muscles and strength dries itselves out of her. And she can tell you one thing: it's not fucking _pleasant_.

.

She's nearing nineteen when she meets Phil.

She knows he's not from town immediately when he walks in, but she doesn't actually _say_ anything because she's supposed to be no one but the young, pretty waitress wasting her life away, and he's weird and Maria still doesn't really warm up too easily with people. He greets her, asks about the day, then proceeds to prod about some weird news on a person glowing up two nights ago in town. Maria doesn't know much about the story, but she gives out whatever she can. (She means, if it shuts him up.)

He says, "That's a nasty scar you got there." to the little cut across her temple that Tommy's left behind, and Maria's breath catches in her throat.

She blinks as neutrally as she could, "I fell. It happens."

The next few days, Phil comes in again. They don't talk much, or at all. He's bringing a few men now, all dressed tackily in black-and-white suits. But she's got an idea that he's no longer just some businessman passing by town. No. Someone more official. The government perhaps. It's whatever. S'not like she cares or anything. Except, of course, that one time she accidentally interrupts them when they're discussing routes.

It's not that she _wants_ to. It just happens.

She sighs. "Look, all that I know is, you can't go that way. Whoever you're chasing, they'll notice. Outsiders aren't supposed to be there. You have to find a better in, buddy. I suggest the east from Percy's gym." She tells, looking as disinterested as she could. "Here's your coffee."

A week later, Phil comes in to thank her, calls her name by "Maria." She knows instantly it's not an accident.

"What'd you just call me?" Her eyes hardens. "You better get the fuck away from me, pal. I don't—"

"Calm down," he wires out a smile. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson from Strategy Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, or better known as S.H.I.E.L.D. I was just hoping to drop in and thank you for all of your help the other day—"

"Right." She cuts him off, angrily. "You're welcome. Now, go."

"Maria—"

"That's not my name." She grits out, forcing her back on him.

Phil hesitates, pauses and opens his mouth again before— " _Marie Anne!_ "

 _Tommy_. And he does _not_ sound happy. Maria squares on her shoulders, blinks and looks at the Phil guy. "You better get out of here," but it's too late, and he's too damn dumb or stubborn, because seconds later Maria finds herself being slapped, not for the first time, by Tommy. _Hard_. Across the face in the still-closed diner. And she hates herself for it. Hates that she takes it so easily, especially when there's a third company around— it shows her how weak she could truly be. Disgusting.

"You dumb bitch." Tommy hisses, clasping hard on her jaw. "Where the fuck did you hide the money?"

"It's not—" She tries, squeezing her eyes shut to conceal the pain and grasps helplessly on his wrists. "It's not _yours_."

"Bitch."

" _Tommy_."

"Sir—" Phil interrupts and Maria groans. _Idiot_. He doesn't know what he's up against. Tommy might not be S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever the fuck they come from, but he sure as hell could be vicious when he wants to be. And all and all, Phil seems like a nice guy. Maria really wouldn't prefer him, out of people she's met, getting hurt. He's just here to, what? Say his thanks? _Goddamn_ , she thought, why can't he just _leave_ already. But at least Tommy loses his grip on her, and she could finally breathe. For now, maybe. "You might not want to do that."

Tommy snarls up a glare, "Who the hell are _you_."

"It's better if you don't know," Phil smiles an irksome smile, and Maria wants nothing but to _slap_ him. Jackass. "Now, please step away from the young lady. I'm sure nobody today wants to get hurt."

"Okay, alright." Tommy chuckles, brushes a hand down his scalp. "I don't know the fuck you are, where you came from, but it's really none of your damn business, man. It's my shit to settle with hers. So, if you could, like, scurry elsewhere to whatever hole you jumped out from, that'd be lovely, huh?"

"You see," Phil urges on, "I can't _do_ that. What you did to her, that's not right."

"Why do _you_ care." Tommy pauses. "Shit. Are you like, her _dad_? I thought you told me your parents died."

Phil cringes just as Maria coughs, frowns. "He's not," she presses. "He's not my dad."

Sometimes Tommy's dumb as dirt.

"Good. Then, he can get the hell out of here." Tommy spits and Phil grins some more, like it's all funs and game, like it's child's entertainment and he _likes_ watching it. Weirdo.

"That's not going to happen."

"Oh man, you're starting to get on my nerves."

"Good."

Tommy chuckles again, but there's a glint to his eyes that says it's not out of humour.

"Fuck you, man—" It happens so fast. It's _instinct_. The moment she sees Tommy's hand flies up, the first thing she does is pin him down and twists his arm. Just like Mr. Hemsworth'd taught her. It surprises her that she still remembers that, has the strength to keep him down even when he struggles and has the decency to go as far as threatening to rip his balls off if he even as much _tries_ to lay a hand on either of them ever again. Everything after that gets a little fuzzy. She's in a car driving somewhere and Phil sits across from her and there's that irritating grin on his face again, like he has all of this plan and it's goddamn nauseating.

He's a straight-up creep.

But he gives her an out. "Join S.H.I.E.L.D.," he says. "You'll learn to do that and more. Shoot bad guys, keep some pretty cool secrets. All of the dirty deals, basically. It's fun." He tells, gives her bunch of basic reports on what the heck the organisation really is. "You can do _good_."

Somehow, she doesn't doubt him on that.

She says instead, "I want to join the army first."

The sudden raised of eyebrows meant she's caught him off-guard with her request. Good. She likes that. If she could do more of that, she'd be happy for the rest of her life, she swears. And then he smiles. A good ole, genuine smile. He nods, "Okay. If that's what you really want."

"It is," Maria answers, never been more sure of anything in her life.

Phil signs her up.

Maria is nineteen when she cuts her hair short. 

It feels nice.

.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a part two? idk. Most likely. I'm tired, bye.


End file.
